


Her

by BullySquadess



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: (they're 25), Aged Up, F/M, Rating for Language, Reveal, angst but it gets better, death mention, themes of depression, watch out for my potty mouth!, your heart will be healed i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 11:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10639071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BullySquadess/pseuds/BullySquadess
Summary: He hated thinking about her now, not that it stopped him from doing so every hour minute second of his waking hours. It was ingrained in him he supposed, this need to keep her in his thoughts. Her. His partner. His best friend. His first (only) love....His second loss.(Post-Hawkmoth defeat future fic)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I would thank my beta but I dont want to ~spoil anything~ so shoutout to the person who made this readable!

_ “March 17th, better known as Hero’s Day, is a time of great triumph and sadness for the people of Paris. Today we celebrate the five year anniversary of Hawkmoth’s defeat, as well as remember the precious lives lost that day. In addition to numerous events being held across Paris, the annual parade is set to travel down Main at sunset, ending with a candlelight vigil at the iconic “Heroes” statue. With an acoustic performance by rock legend Jagged Stone and appearances by speakers such as Mayor Bourgeois and this station’s own Alya Cesaire, former head of the popular “Ladyblog”, the fifth annual Protector’s Memorial is-” _

Silence fell as Adrien muted the television, the remote clinking an empty wine bottle as he tossed it onto the coffee table. His eyes were bleary from his mid-day nap and bagged by the exhaustion no amount of sleep could fix, apathetic as they watched the news segment roll on.

Painted across the screen was, of course, the same picture they always used. As if there didn’t exist thousands of other pictures to choose from. Her arms, thrown around his shoulders with an easy grace borne of years of partnership. Her face, barely shifted past the inherent roundness of teenhood to instead angle into that of a woman just finding her twenties, frozen in the echo of a smile he’d never again see in this lifetime. 

(She’d still had acne for christ sakes. The universe hadn't even found the fucking decency to wait until she’d blossomed before plucking her life out at the root.) 

Frowning, Adrien switched the tv off, plunging the room into darkness.

He hated thinking about her now, not that it stopped him from doing so every hour minute  _ second _ of his waking hours. It was ingrained in him he supposed, this need to keep her in his thoughts. 

Her. 

His partner. 

His best friend. 

His first (only) love.

...His second loss.

They’re been many loses around that same time, each one exquisitely and uniquely crafted to take a little more out of him. His father, his kwami- both gone without word or explanation, leaving only a sterling ring and a massive fashion empire in their wake.

(Ladybug had left even  _ less _ physical proof of her passing. Bone fragments, the official police statement had said, extracted from the point of detonation and too charred to determine who or even  _ how many _ had been killed in the warehouse explosion. 

That’s it. Just bits of dust and bone where there had once been life.)

Adrien kept the reminders at an arm's length, unable to stomach the emotions that came with them. The company he’d swiftly dumped into Nathalie’s capable hands. The ring sat untouched in his sock drawer. The black scar he’d woken up with on the day he wasn’t supposed to have woken up  _ at all _ remained hidden beneath a pair of gloves Adrien claimed reminded him of his father.

He internalized, he compartmentalized, he kept going the best he could.

(Sometimes “the best” looked like a water bottle, a half-hour cry, and a day spent disassociating in bed, but Adrien still thanked whatever lucky star shined down on him that “the worst” had never gotten to the point where simply making every  _ stop _ become an option.)

There was a knock at the hotel room door.

“M. Agreste?” 

He knew it was coming. It happened at least once a week. 

And with this week being  _ the _ week- the week Paris stopped what it was doing to remember their fallen heroes -it was only a matter of time before someone came to drag him out of his depression nest, dress him up, and parade him around long enough for the magazines to prove he wasn't completely dead. 

“M. Agreste you have to leave soon.”

Like hell he did. 

Adrien tunneled back under his blanket, knowing if he ignored the knocking long enough whatever unfortunate intern was on the other side would eventually give up, buying him at least 20 more minutes of nap time before either Nathalie or the Gorilla personally broke down the door and threw him ass-naked into a scalding shower. 

...

Thirty seconds passed, then there was another, softer knock.

“Adrien?” 

Adrien cracked one eye open, intrigued. There weren’t many Gabriel employees that dared use his apparently forbidden first name- only Nathalie and a handful of shareholders, really- and there were even less that said it without reeking of pity.

Sighing, Adrien rolled off the couch, padding to the entrance with the intent to just look through the peephole then retreat. 

He was halfway there when the door swung open, revealing stockinged legs, a slim pencil skirt, a lime green blazer and-

“Marinette?” Adrien blurted, as if the wide, blue-eyed, highly Marinette-esque look of surprise the woman wore wasn’t already a dead giveaway. Add the dark hair and fashionable clothes and she was a dead-ringer for his old classmate, the only thing missing was the stutter (which Adrien reckoned she must have grown out of years ago).

His new visitor blinked. “Um, yeah. I… sorry, I thought that maybe you didn't hear me knock, so I just used the key Mlle.Sancour gave me.”

Adrien hitched a brow. “Since when do you work for Nathalie?”

“I've been working at Gabriel for almost three years.”

Still semi-drowsy, Adrien processed this information in pieces, resisting the urge to frown when he realized he’d somehow been employing one of his closest Lycee friends for  _ years _ now without actually knowing it.

“Welcome aboard,” he murmured, nearly suffocated by the sudden realization that everyone else on earth hadn’t simply stopped existing the same day he had.That while he had sealed himself away, somehow both aching and unfeeling, his classmates had graduated and gotten jobs and perhaps even started families.

(It almost made him angry, the idea that Paris could just keep chugging along like always after Ladybug had given _ everything _ for it’s survival.

How  _ dare _ these people act like everything was normal? How  _ dare _ they live and grow and shape a new world that Ladybug would never get to see?)

Adrien shook his head, belatedly remembered his manners by waving Marinette inside. She thanked him with a nod, heels clicking on the marble entryways and eyes wandering the darkened hotel room. 

The curtains were closed. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d been open- if they’d ever been open in the six (Seven? Nine? Twelve????) months he’d been holed up in the suite.

( _ “You need to get out of your father’s house,” Chloe had said, traces of genuine concern peeking past her perpetual sneer. “It’s starting to feel even more like a crypt than usual.” _

_ “Okay,” Adrien had answered, vacant. _

_ “Come stay at the hotel, you’ll get out more that way. Make more friends. Feel better.” _

_ “Okay.” _ )

“So… what do you do?”

Adrien wasn’t sure what surprised him more- the fact he was attempting to engage someone in small talk, or the fact he was genuinely looking for a response.

It wasn’t a slight against Marinette- she’d always been so friendly when they were younger, bright and bubbly and just _ nice _ in a way no amount of etiquette training could have ever imparted on him- he just couldn't for the life of him remember when the last time he’d actually been interested in having a conversation was.

(Especially with one of Nathalie’s uppity, key-wielding, eager-for-promotion lackeys sent to extract him from his pity nest.)

Marinette turned from where she’d been eyeing his blanket-strewn couch, arching a brow in polite confusion. “Do?” 

“What do you do for the company, I mean.”

“For _ your _ company, you mean?” Marinette clarified, just a bit bemused. Just a bit sassy. Just a bit realer,  _ more human, _ than the army of hollow-laughed,  _ “Of-Course-Monsieur-Agreste!” _ Gabriel employees that had come before her.

Adrien swallowed a grin.

“I started as an intern, then got hired on later as an assistant. I mostly buy coffee, run errands, fetch dry cleaning…” 

Her smile- an ironic, twisted little thing -looked rather odd on her otherwise sweet face. 

“...Worship the ground the designers walk on.”

“You deserve it more than most of them do,” Adrien said, sincerely meaning it.

“You have no way of knowing that...”

“I know you were more talented than half of them while we were still in school, and I can only assume you've gotten better since then.” 

Adrien couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a hint of blush creep up the back of Marinette’s neck, but she shook her head clear before he could confirm it was there.

“Didn't know you had grown into such a sweet talker,” she said, though the quip seemed a bit tense, her earlier teasing tone sliding back into one of professionalism. She gestured to the bathroom, slipping her phone out from her coat pocket and glancing at the screen, “I’ve been told you’re supposed to shower, shave, and change into these clothes before I can escort you to the vigil. The car gets here in a half hour, so you might want to get started.”

Oh yeah. 

That’s why he didn’t make conversation with the people he was only going to disappoint...

“I’m not going,” Adrien informed her, politely but firmly.

Marinette blinked rapidly in surprise. “What?

“I’ll text Nathalie and tell her I was being uncooperative. She won't hold it against you.” 

“I… Why don’t you want to go?”

Adrien shrugged. He wasn’t trying to be a diva, or make Marinette’s job harder than it already was, but he was an adult now, and if he wanted to stay in the privacy of his own hotel room all day rather than be barraged by images of his dead partner, then there was really no one that could stop him. 

“It's always the same dry speeches and tired photos. The police act like they didn't arrest Chat Noir on a multiple occasions, the media conveniently forgets all the times they tried to uncover Ladybug’s secret identity, and the government pretends they did a single useful thing in helping to fight Hawkmoth when really all they did was sit on their asses and wait for Ladybug and Chat Noir to deal with their problems.”

“Fighting Hawkmoth was Ladybug and Chat Noir’s responsibility,” Marinette said, her brow knitting. “No one else's.”

“Yeah?” Adrien asked, his laugh more hostile than intended. “Well it sure would have been a hell of a lot easier if they hadn't had to fight the whole city while they were at it.” 

“Things change,” Marinette countered, standing her ground with that same fiery determination he remembered from their school days, “There are people out there  _ making it change _ . Alya’s worked hard to stop the identity investigations. Sabrina and Kim are busting tail in the precinct to reform police procedure. Even Mayor Bourgeois-”

“Chloe,” Adrien corrected wearily. “Just call her Chloe.”

For a moment, Marinette simply studied him, fingers tapping the speckled surface of the kitchenette counter and lips puckered to the side. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but whatever sort of objection she’d clearly been crafting didn’t come. Instead she sighed, regarding him with something akin to weariness. 

“Even Chloe has done a lot of growing these past few years,” Marinette said, throwing a weighty stare his way.

Feeling a sudden and odd sense of shame, Adrien looked away.

“The world keeps changing Adrien,” she continued, extending the garment bag out with a look of such pure exhaustion he accepted it on pure instinct. “It keeps going.” 

Her next words were muffled by her turned back and nearly drowned out by the clack of her heels, but Adrien just managed to catch them.

“Even after it feels like it's stopped…”

* * *

 

 

Resigned to his fate, Adrien took a quick (but definitely over-due judging by the amount of dead skin cells he’d exfoliated off) shower, even going so far as to stick a toothbrush in his mouth while he was at it. After that came the shaving, which he accomplished with minimal nicks, and within a half hour he was looking  _ and _ smelling lightyears better than he had in weeks.

(Personal hygiene wasn’t  _ exactly _ at the top of his list nowadays, and while he still wished he didn’t have to go out at all, he had to admit the grooming helped him feel better. Lighter at the very least.)

Marinette was on him the instant he exited the bathroom- straightening uneven cuffs, brushing lint off lapels, and generally tidying him in the same way every aspiring fashion designer was taught to tidy their models. This of course was nothing new to Adrien, who after years of being poked and picked at fell easily into the role of living doll.

“They didn't include a pocket square?” Marinette asked, frowning a bit as her fingers brushed across his empty breast pocket.

“Not that I saw,” Adrien answered, certain he’d put on everything he’d been given. Marinette’s frown deepened, teeth dashing out to capture her bottom lip. “It’s fine. I've got a few of my own if you tell me which one looks good.” 

His phone began to ring before she could respond, and Adrien sighed, knowing there was only one person in his contacts with that particular ringtone and he’d be in deep shit if he didn't answer.

Fishing the device out of his pocket with one hand, Adrien used the other to open his top drawer, gesturing for Marinette to riffle through the small bin of pocket squares tucked off to one side She nodded, diving in as he stuck his phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Are you dressed?”

“It's nice to hear from you too, Nathalie.”

Adrien’s lip twitched when heard Marinette stifle a snort, the woman busying herself with her search as he glanced over at her.

“Almost,” he promised, resuming his living mannequin duties as his “assistant for the day” held various handkerchief options up to his chest. She paused on purple one, considered, then shook her head, diving back into the drawer. 

“We need you to be at the park before daylight hours are over. The paparazzi leaves once the sunlight does.”

“Does that mean I only have to stay till sundown?”

Nathalie’s frown was audible, but her answer was drowned out by a sudden gasp.

Adrien jumped, swivelling to the source of the cry. “Marinette?” he asked worriedly, putting a hand over the receiver when he caught sight of her color-drained face. “Is everything-” 

_ No. _

He ended the call with a swift tap of his finger, the trio of beeps echoing through the suddenly silent room. “Put it back,” Adrien demanded, fists clenched and eyes zeroed on the small, ornately carved jewelry box grasped in Marinette’s shaking fingers.

(Stupid. He was so stupid! Why would he let anyone near the place he kept his one treasure in this world?!)

“Where did you get this?” Marinette breathed, voice panicked and… 

Were those tears in her eyes?

“Please Marinette,” Adrien said, all but begging. “Please just-”

“Where did you get this?!” she snapped.

“I don't know, okay?!” he snapped back, immediately regretting that decision when Marinette flinched at the outburst.

(He may not be the most socially skilled person on earth, but Adrien knew a man yelling at women when they were alone in an unfamiliar hotel room was a surefire way to inspire fear.)

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, taking a deep breath and forcing his voice to stay calm. “I really don’t know. It just showed up in my bag one day when I was fourteen, but it is  _ very _ important to me. Now could you  _ please _ put it back?”

Marinette- still deathly pale -did not put it back. Instead she opened the jewelry box, squeezing her eyes shut with another wrecked sob when she saw what laid inside.

She put a hand over her mouth, tears now streaming down her cheeks at an almost impossible rate. “C-Chat Noir?” 

Something in Adrien broke at the name.

He should have been suspicious. He should have asked himself why Marinette would see the same silver ring he’d worn every day to school and immediately hop to the conclusion he used to be Chat Noir. He should have been smart,  _ intuitive, _ but he just wasn’t. 

Adrien sighed wearily. “Not anymore.”

Marinette regarded him as if he were a ghost, and in a way she was right to do so. As far as Paris knew, Chat Noir was dead, and if Adrien was being completely honest with himself, he agreed. Chat Noir had stopped existing the moment his other half had, now his ring was just a ring and his wielder was just an echo of his former self. 

Marinette set the box down without a word, turning on her heel and swiftly exiting the room.

Adrien heard the suite door click shut.

Boneless, he sunk onto the bed, all traces of energy gained from his shower draining into sudden lethargy. He wanted to sleep, undreaming and unthinking about what happens next or what’d he’d have to do to fix it.

Marinette could go to the media, he supposed but he doubted anyone would believe her without proof. She could blackmail him for her silence, but from what he remembered of her from their school days, Adrien didn't peg her as the extortionist type. It wouldn't even matter if she was, he’d stopped caring about secrecy long ago. 

Funny how for years he'd longed to scream his identity to anyone that would listen, and now there was hardly a cat to let out of the bag.

Minutes later, Nathalie’s ringtone filled the room once more. 

Exhausted, Adrien popped the battery out of his phone.

This time, Marinette didn't bother knocking.

She barged in his bedroom winded, panting as if she’d ran up all twelve flights of stairs it took to get to his floor. Her tear filled eyes avoided his bewildered ones, Adrien only noticing the purse she carried when she dumped its contents across his covers and began sifting frantically through the pile. He opened his mouth, perhaps to ask if she were okay or if he needed to call someone, but the words died in his throat when Marinette finally found what she was looking for.

A tiny, ornate, and  _ oh-so-familiar _ jewelry box.

It… it had to be fluke right? A really good fake? There’s no way...

Adrien's ears rang like he’d been concussed, vision going blurry at the edges. He wasn't aware of his own hand moving until it was already reaching out, mutely taking the octogonal container Marinette thrust in his direction.

“Open it,” she said, in that same authoritative voice that-

Adrien wanted to pass out.

It was the same heroic tone Ladybug used when she had a plan in mind- when she  _ knew _ everything would work out so long as she had her Chat Noir by her side. It was uncanny,  _ heart wrenching _ , and the sound of it combined with the earrings his shaking hands revealed nestled inside the box was enough to dredge up a tiny sliver of hope he’d thought he’d lost exactly five years ago.

Marinette- with her sky blue eyes and her midnight hair and her smile he  _ swore _ he’d recognize anywhere -waited for him connect the spots.

“This isn't real,” Adrien said in a hoarse whisper, unwilling- unable to even  _ dream _ something like this could be happening. “You a-aren't real… I-I can’t...”

His head fell into his hands, palms digging into his eye sockets until colors popped before him. 

(He’d had visions, sleeping-pill induced hallucinations like this before, but never any so vivid. He could smell her subtle perfume, hear her sniffling breaths, even sense the mattress dip as his phantom Ladybug sat down beside him, and Adrien just wanted the joke to be over so he could wake up and forget.)

“Chaton…”

He choked on a sob.

“Chaton _ please  _ look at me.”

(That was  _ their _ nickname. Nobody called him that but  _ her _ .)

Adrien felt two delicate hands wrap around his wrists, drawing them away until he was forced to look at her. 

Her. 

His partner. 

His best friend. 

His first (only) love.

...His no-longer second loss.

“M-my Lady?” 

Marinette choked out a sob of her own, barely managing a nod before Adrien was yanking her into his arms, hugging her so tight and so  _ fierce _ they both ended up sprawled on the bed, tangled in a mess of clamoring limbs. Her forehead clunked his chin, his knee knocked against her hip, but none of it mattered because they were together. 

Ladybug was here, alive and in his arms, and for the first time in five years Adrien felt like he could breathe.

“I love you,” he repeated in an endless matra, pressing the words into the tear-trails streaked down her cheeks, into her mussed up hair and her shadow-smudged eyelids. He pressed it into the healed-over piercings in her ears, over and over so she would hear and  _ know. _

Adrien’s biggest regret (besides not being able to protect his Lady when she’d needed it most) had always been never telling his partner how he felt about her, and now that he had the opportunity to do so, he was going to make up for every missed day.

Somewhere between his lovesick blubbering and her own whispered chant of  _ “I missed you I missed you I missed you so much” _ , the two shed their jackets and shoes, creating a nest of pillows in which they roosted together. Through gentle questioning, Adrien learned Marinette had  _ also _ woken up in her bed the day after the explosion, kwami-less and presumed dead. She showed him the bright red spot stamped over her heart, and Adrien in turn revealed the jagged black scar that twisted around his hand, both of them tracing reverent fingers over the other’s mark as if to heal it with their touch. 

Neither ex-hero could even begin to explain  _ how _ they were still alive, or fathom  _ why _ they’d been saved in the first place, but they decided the important thing was that they  _ had been _ spared, and were here now to even wonder about the magic they owed their lives to. 

“It was them,” Marinette said, fresh tears springing to her eyes as she fiddled with her defunct earrings, “They did something to themselves so we would be safe.”

Adrien pulled her in tight, the lump in his throat tasting strangely of camembert. 

(Just because one of his losses had been returned to him didn’t mean the others hurt any less keenly.)

Minutes later- probably closer to an hour if the dying light peeking from behind the blinds was any indication- Marinette heaved a sigh. “If you don't at least make an appearance at the vigil I’m getting fired.” 

His head cradled against the soft cushion of her stomach, Adrien laughed, louder and more genuine than he had in years. It felt a little strange, like using muscles he’d forgotten he had, but the sensation was worth it to see her smile.

“If you get fired I’ll fire whoever fired you and hire you in in their place,” he said, willing to do anything to convince her to stay wrapped up with him as long as possible.

(Although, now that he thought about it, attending a memorial for himself and dead partner would be far less painful with said partner by his side. Almost poetic even.)

“Head of Departmental Operations Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Marinette mused. “It  _ does _ have a nice ring to it.” 

Adrien hummed. “I'm more partial to co-CEO Marinette Dupain-Cheng, myself.”  He glanced up at her, eyebrow hitched and smile mischievous.“Co-CEO/girlfriend if you prefer.”

Now it was Marinette’s turn to laugh- such a wonderful, incredible,  _ nostalgic _ sound that Adrien nearly teared up a second time.

_ God _ it felt good to be whole again.

“Back from the dead for less than fifteen minutes and you’re already trying to woo me?”  She prodded the tip of his nose. “You  _ must _ be my Chat Noir.”

Adrien took it back. 

The sound of Marinette calling him her Chat Noir was _infinitely_ better than any laugh. 

The way he cradled her hand, bringing it up towards his face, was wonderfully familiar. As was the way his lips feathered across her knuckles.

(The sensation of skin on skin and the meaningful lock of their gazes was new.  _ Joyous _ … and just a bit heated.)

“Is it working, my Lady?” he asked, the nickname tasting honey-sweet as it rolled off his tongue and dripped down her hand. 

“As well as it ever did,” she sighed, surprising him by entwining their fingers rather than continue the dance by pulling away. Her gaze dipped to his lips, so fast Adrien feared he might have imagined it. “Which is to say I'm am seriously tempted.” 

_ ‘Oh?’ _ Adrien thought. 

And then:

“O-oh?” Adrien said, wanting to hear in great detail just how he’d ever managed to tempt her into anything.

But of course this was Ladybug he was talking about, so all he got in answer was a coy smile.

“C’mon,” Marinette piped suddenly, wiggling out from under him and gesturing for him to stand as well, “We’re going to the ceremony.”

“But I wanna hang out here with youuuu,” Adrien groaned, aware he was being childish but not at all caring as he tried to pull her back into bed. 

It was no use. Marinette was as strong as (if not stronger) than he was and easily planted her heels in the carpet.

“We can hang out together at the celebration,” she argued, batting away every pillow Adrien tried to pile atop himself before eventually just grabbing his leg and  _ pulling _ . “You stubborn cat, just go out with me!”

“Wait,” Adrien said, ceasing his struggle long enough to shoot her a grin, “Like on a date?”

Marinette rolled her eyes, but he swore he caught that elusive blush grace her neck once more. “If I say it is will you get out of bed?” 

He nodded eagerly. 

“Then get up so we can go on our date.”

Adrien flew from his bed like a bat out of hell, showering his Lady with promises of roses and wine while she tried not to smile under his affections. It took some doing, but eventually he calmed down enough for her to re-fix his rumpled appearance, and it wasn’t ten minutes later the two found themselves in a car headed towards the park.

Idling in the backseat, mindful of the swarm of paparazzi that awaited them outside, Marinette straightened the crimson square of fabric in Adrien’s breast pocket for at least the fifth time since putting it there. Likewise, Adrien kept fiddling with the silver cat cufflinks he’d discovered affixed to Marinette’s lime green blazer, still a little bit unbelieving that this was all happening.

“Ready?” she asked once she was satisfied they didn't look like they’d been lying in bed together all afternoon.

(Needless to say, “Fashion Intern Sleeping with Former Model and Ceo!”  was one scandal they didn't need right now. Regardless of how okay Adrien would be with that rumor.)

“Ready,” he agreed through a smile, offering up a fist Marinette was quick to bump.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, when the setting sun and lantern streaked sky marked the _exact_ five year anniversary of Hawkmoth’s fall, Adrien’s hand started to tingle. It was odd he thought, flexing his fingers silently so as to not interrupt the vigil, but nothing to bother anyone over. Probably a by-product of excitement.

By the time Alya took the stage for her long-awaited speech, Adrien’s arm began to  _ ache _ , just crossing the line between odd and uncomfortable. Again, nothing he wanted to let ruin his night, but strange none-the-less.

It was during Jagged Stone’s second encore that his hand started to  _ burn _ and Adrien began to worry. He winced, turning to Marinette to ask if they could start thinking about leaving, only to find her clutching her chest in similar distress. His panic spiked, and it was by mutual agreement the two staggered out of the crowd, supporting one another on shaking limbs.

The Dupain-Cheng bakery sat dark on the busy street corner, closed while it’s owners were out catering banquets all night, but luckily Marinette still kept a key. She just barely managed to shove Adrien through the door before the burning sensation hit it’s peak, driving them both to their knees in abject  _ agony. _

Adrien grit his teeth, so delirious with pain he figured he was imagining the black smoke curling from his arm. Marinette though the same about the pink glow emitting from her chest. They held each other for all they had, fingers digging into clothing and flesh as if to say “this time we go out together”, but unbeknownst to them this was the very opposite of an ending.

There was a pop, a crack... then at last the pain was gone, leaving something else entirely in it’s place.

“I’m starving,” complained a familiar feline voice, followed by a twinkling giggle.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Alright, now that I'm #Exposed I can say THANK YOU for all the lovely comments. I see alot of my regular readers in the notes and im so glad to know ya'll will still find my works interesting even when I'm under anon. <3   
> Also: I miiiiight be tempted to do a second chapter. Either a re-write through Marinette's pov or a continuation. Keep an eye out!


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